By viktoriya on July 27, 2010

The wingless bird
is often at my window
it squirms at plummet
of the rain or blindly blinks at moon
it does not chirp and ask me no permission
to peck on window of my room at midnight or at noon
It has no shadow and its feathers’re missing
the gloss of dew and stardust of the night
It turns to Raven –when I read it listens
it turns to glittered quill in moonlight when I write
But interminably it comes when day’s in blossom
it’s missing wings are pitiful regret
Presiding over Salvador’s ”supreme ambition”
it squints at books I start to write but soon forget…
”Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings”
Salvador Dali
Posted in poem |
By viktoriya on July 27, 2010

I said:
Leave the past to its shadows
Death claims life but not love
Often dust of burnt meadows
Paired with rain from above
Bears the fruits and the flowers
New Eden for lost lovers.….….
Posted in poem |
By viktoriya on June 10, 2010

who claim poor Yorick being forgotten
and dusted verse of dead Shakespeare!
The rusted sword that cuts your tongue!
The dirt of blabber filling shallow
The depth of your profound thought!
You scream I am Witch of darkened ages!
And make the fire with the pages
That praises me! You bare sages!
Me! Who drank old gin with drunken Poe?
Who filled the skull with blood of wine
for Byron playing in his castle?
Invited to soirees and rested on clover
Bed with Stevenson observing ‘’… child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play…’’ ?
I am condemned to burn in flames
Sustained by you with flapping pages
of poems read as shortened prose!
The masterpieces of new ages
Stored in the dusted schools of yours!
The instruments of inquisition to kill me more~!
I am The Rhyme!
I will survive the burning blaze
Of foolest pages yet receding!
The light of old will lit they way
To newest kingdom
Of my reign!
And not sustained thy flames will wane!
Posted in short story |
By viktoriya on June 10, 2010

Book is open, eyes closed
Orange clouds call thunder
Salty breeze flapping pages
under peach tinted dust,
Darkened dunes lonely castles
casting saffron on coastline
Ocean–amber indigo
melting last golden rays…
Draped in the Suede of first shadows
Night pulls black sleeve of cloak,
Weaved in diamonds and rubies
lace of mask over face
casting moon shot reflection
in the glistening mirror…..
Split in half glassy kingdom
War on top –peace beneath
playing wondrous drama
Splashed in blue sward of lightning
Thunder cracks abyss open
striking torches of gold
rolling waves ever mighty
Mephistophilus plays Wagner
sweeping moon with the stardust
wind is wailing above
Brigantine harbored under.…
Rags of red silky dresses
Drapes of sails flawing down
Play is over, seats empty
actors fired. Alas!
Salvador’s melting watches
Kings of noontide are broken
Mast—lit stage holds unspoken
Final, short epilogue
of what once was a drama….
Sleepless nights twined in passion!
Paramours’ timeless playwright
Moon– is hiding in shadows
Prima donna lays pastel
Wreath of lilies –white tears
Posted in misc |
By viktoriya on May 12, 2010
I dreamed of narrow streets of Rome with sunlight brushed against the open windows
I dreamed of iron door– its carving weave of handle too hot on fingers– opened into cooling
shadows of the courtyard
I dreamed of fountain that shed its scarlet paint, striking the strings of icicles—the feverish sparks against my flushing skin, turn golden streaks that melt and slither under décolleté of tawny silk
I dreamed you tore that silk away– the orange flames against your bare feet burning the angels perched on flowers of the tiles’ marble…
I dreamed you twined with shadows and left your light within the classrooms of your wisdom and dusted libraries and,
blaze with me, at holy city of the sin, that used to burn to ashes its dazzling bells up in its lofty cobalt dome—the endless sky of ancient Rome..
2010.
Posted in dreams |
By viktoriya on June 19, 2009

The shattered mirror on the floor
The moonlight broken into pieces
Reflecting thousands of nights
That make my soul so reminiscent
Of darkest grief for fallen light
I used to seek with desperation
I looked for day but found night
Filled with the fear and frustration
And night by night I could not sleep
My angel left me in the darkness
Of narrow room of grimmest thoughts
The crying thoughts that were my masters
Then He would come
On windowsill his strange profile of palest
Pallet of coldest blue, transparent yellow
Lit up by moon…his eyes would ferret
His dirty cup…
my soul would scorch
In flames of thy red hellish power
To fail my will…
I could not think.…
He handed venom ..I would drink.
Dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe
Posted in poem |
By viktoriya on May 15, 2009

I thought I would write a novel
I thought I would sing a song
I wanted to capture a moment
and give it a life that is long
Or may be make it immortal
encrust it with talent of pen
And give it Rachmaninoff ”forte”…
and ”piano” of tender Chopen*.…
*Chopin( the music of rhymes. Eastern Europeans pronounce Chopen )
.
Posted in poem |
By viktoriya on March 23, 2009

Your words —as silver Knives
They always cut without resurrection
The tender golden String that laces our Souls
With precious beads of days and nights
and priceless moments of Affection
And every time you slash that strand
I look for tiny beads to fix it
and with each time I find them less..
I take what’s left and try to mix it
With empty looks, and closed doors
With lonely nights, and lasting grieving
For something that belonged to us
The Spring of our treasured feelings…
This time, I may add sparkling tears
And mix them with the droplets scattered on the ground
But seems this time the strand will not be fixed
The tiny clasp of purest gold– was lost… and never found.…
…
Posted in poem |
By admin on August 19, 2008

I think of Silence as Hope
to hear harmony of life
I want to break the ticking Clock
That cuts its span as sharpest knife
I need Serenity as Friend
To visit place where lights are off
I feel that Stillness what was meant
The firmest speech was meant as soft
as Whisper of the falling snow
or Sigh of Wind, and Time as slow
And distant as a Waltz of Past.…
I need it now. I need it fast.
Posted in poem | Tagged philosophical, poem |
By viktoriya on August 19, 2008

Oh, closer to the Absolute,
In outlines of mountains indigo sky is slowly melting into
Shadows,
Leaning away from setting sun and overcasting darken meadows,
The End and ultimate Beginning, the Shambala of Soul
Where Yin and Yang create a veritable Meaning…..
Enchanted Mecca of the Moon, tranquility reincarnation,
where stars engraving constellations
Create a crystal clear path for tired soul to find its rest..
There lived a Solitude…for years
She hid in creeks and slept in Shadows
With wordless stars on silent nights
With clover bed at moonlit meadows
Alone…for many years..alone
Surrounded by peaceful Bliss
No one to love…No one to miss…
…
Posted in poem | Tagged Rerix, Shambala, Tibet, Yin and Yang |